


A Laugh In It

by BlossomsintheMist



Series: Steve/Tony Kinktober 2017 [23]
Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Afterglow, Anal Sex, Angst, Cuddling, Cuddling & Snuggling, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Hints of sub Tony, Insecure Steve, Insecure Steve Rogers, Insecure Tony, Insecure Tony Stark, Laughter, Laughter During Sex, Light Angst, M/M, Mentions of bottom Steve, Mentions of top Tony, New Relationship, New-ish Relationship, Oral Sex, Workshop sex, hints of insecure Steve, smiling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2019-02-09 06:40:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12882276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlossomsintheMist/pseuds/BlossomsintheMist
Summary: “What?” he said, still laughing.  “Debauched in my own workshop?  Pantsless?”“Happy,” Steve said, laughing a little himself.  “Relaxed, Tony.  Happy, like this, smiling at me, like that.  Laughing.  God, I love it.”Written for Day Twenty-Five of Kinktober: Smiles/Laughter.





	A Laugh In It

**Author's Note:**

> “Life is worth living as long as there’s a laugh in it.”  
> ― L.M. Montgomery

Tony’s first few times having sex with Steve had felt deadly serious.  He’d been tense, he could admit it, desperate to make it good, to show Steve what—what he could offer, that this would be worth the trouble, that he could make it so, so good for him, with him, at least in bed.  He’d put so much consideration into every little thing, paid attention to every detail, and there had been pleasure in it, too, so much (watching what made Steve react, finding his sensitive spots, seeing him gasp and writhe and shiver under him, against him—and Steve was a sweet lover, almost surprisingly so, eager to see Tony enjoy himself in return, open and honest and straightforward and generous; he really seemed to _enjoy_ himself in bed, and that was wonderful to witness), but Tony had always been thinking, memorizing, measuring, trying to make it good.  To give Steve whatever Tony thought he wanted. This was just—it was so important. He had finally gotten a chance with Steve, and the last thing he wanted was to—to mess it up with something he was actually _good_ at.  He was a good lover, he thought, especially when he applied himself.  So he was damn well going to apply himself, make it as good for Steve as he possibly could.

But, somehow, things started changing.  Slowly, at first.  Steve would put his arms around him, after they’d been in bed together, rub at his back, and Tony couldn’t help it, would relax into his arms, and Steve would smile and press a soft kiss onto his lips.  It was hard not to relax into that, and Tony kept forgetting himself at Steve’s kisses, losing himself in the intense sincerity of them, the breathtaking sweetness, dizzying, until he felt warm all over.  Steve would rub at the backs of Tony’s knees, grip his ankles gently, rubbing his thumbs against the sensitive spot behind the bone, as Tony straddled him and ran his hands over Steve’s sensitive nipples, before Steve moved his hands up to squeeze and stroke and massage over Tony’s ass.  It always made Tony shiver, want to melt into him, even when he was the one on top, the one supposed to be making Steve melt.  Steve would smile up at him, move his hand up to touch, stroke Tony’s cock, and some nights he just pushed Tony up against the headboard, or something, big hand flat against Tony’s belly, and just—played with it, curving his other big warm hand over Tony’s cock, able to cover it almost entirely when Tony was soft, rubbing his thumb along the base, against the sensitive head, tugging at it gently, then dipping his head down to suck gently at the tip, play with his tongue just under the head, until Tony was gasping, groaning, and when Tony asked what he was doing, Steve would just smile and say, “Just appreciating,” and lick the tip of his cock like it was an ice cream cone. He would squirm under it, but it felt good, so, so good, too, and it was always hard to say no to Steve when he smiled at him like that.  Steve would smile at him, slide his hands up over Tony’s sides, his hips, his belly, still sucking lightly at the tip of his cock, and say, between sucks, “Tony, you’ve got such a pretty cock.”

Tony thought that wasn’t exactly true—his cock wasn’t small, but it wasn’t big, and compared to Steve’s, well, it felt small.  Steve’s cock was gorgeous, huge and warm in Tony’s hands, against his legs or belly, and perfectly proportional.  But thinking that Steve might be biased just made Tony feel warmer, because Steve had to, well, care, in order to be that biased, didn’t he?

Still, Tony would eventually slide his hands up Steve’s broad, warm chest and circle his thumbs around his nipples, squeezing gently, then slip his arms up around Steve’s neck, drawing Steve down into a kiss, sliding his legs up, slotting them over Steve’s hips so he could pull himself up into his lap, rub up against him with slow, circular rolls of his hips, make it good for him, too.  But the tension would be almost gone then, like he’d forgotten about it, forgotten in in the touch of Steve’s mouth, the warm of his skin, the sweet ache of pleasure in his cock, wet and still sticky from Steve’s mouth.

At one point, when they were in bed together, he slid his hands down over Tony’s thighs, stroking until the skin felt sensitive, shivery and warm at the same time under his touch, then slid one hand up, over Tony’s ass cheek, rubbed at his hole.  Tony was—he was startled by it, gasped, bit his bottom lip, said, with a sudden flush of self-consciousness, “Steve, I, uh, I didn’t realize you wanted to—I mean, I’m not clean, I mean, I’m _clean_ , but I didn’t, uh, I didn’t clean myself out down there, you don’t want to”—but Steve had just blinked up at him, fingers still gently circling his asshole.

“Huh?” he said.  “I’m not doin’ anything, Tony, just touching you, is that okay?”  And then he’d smiled, a little shyly.  “I just … want to feel you.”

“There?” Tony gasped out, feeling a little hot, self-conscious, but it felt good, too, a strangely soft, intimate massage in a place other people so rarely touched.

“Yeah, there,” Steve said, smiling up at him fondly.  “You feel so good.  You’re so smooth and perfect,” his fingers rubbed gently over Tony’s hole, and Tony groaned at the intimate sensation, the strange pulse of quiet pleasure, “and you feel just like, like velvet down there.”

“It’s just,” Tony gasped, “you know.  Good skin care.  Waxing.”

Steve smiled, nuzzled his shoulder.  “Well, you feel good, whatever it is,” he said.  “Can’t believe how smooth you feel.”  And Tony found himself moaning, pressing into him, legs spreading instinctively, as Steve kept rubbing gently at his hole, soft, soothing, intimate, not pushing in, as he leaned up, pulled Tony down into a kiss.  He kept rubbing at his hole, his ass, squeezing the cheeks gently, pulling them apart, kneading and massaging them, even as Tony pushed into him, fucked him slow and deep and as good as he knew how, and when Tony finally came and collapsed on top of him, panting, Steve’s hands smoothed up and down his ass, his back, massaging, and Tony just felt—felt good, floaty and loose with pleasure, warm in Steve’s arms, relaxed, as Steve pressed a soft kiss to his temple.

It wasn’t like Steve was actively trying to turn the tables on him, or at least, Tony didn’t think that was what he was doing.  Steve was just being—affectionate, yeah, affectionate in bed, that was all.  It was an instinctive response to what Tony did to him, with him, Tony being there.  Reaching out, wanting to touch him, wanting to taste his cock, rub his thighs and his hole, stroke his back, tangle his hands in his hair and stroke gently through the thick dark strands, rubbing at his scalp until all Tony wanted to do was lay his head down on Steve’s chest and just enjoy it, just goddamn purr, practically, because that felt so, so good, and he’d always loved having his hair stroked, and Steve’s hands were big and warm and strong but gentle, and they felt amazing on his head, in his hair.  But he didn’t leave himself many moments to just lie there and do that, blissing out on the pleasure, just a few after he came and was lying there in the afterglow, because, well, he wanted to make it good for Steve, and that included cleaning up afterwards, making sure he was comfortable and happy, wasn’t needy to go again.  (He’d realized really early on that Steve could come twice easily even on his worst night, wasn’t really satisfied until four times when he was really feeling it.  Steve kept telling him he never expected it, but Tony knew _that_.  It made it so much better to give it to him, when he looked so shocked and overcome, so _thrilled,_ every single time, like he couldn’t believe Tony was willing to bring him off again.)

That day, Tony was working in the workshop, and he was in a good mood.  A really good mood; he’d been productive, had knocked out a new specialized design for the armor, had fixed a malfunctioning boot jet, and done three fabrications, as well as running the weekly diagnostics on the quinjets, the mansion’s computers, the power source, and the security systems.  Now he was just designing, fun stuff, knocking out a few ideas he’d had over the week, sketching them out into the computer, fooling around with the details, so he didn’t mind when he heard steps on the stairs, minded even less when he spun around on his chair and caught sight of who it was.  “My favorite slice of All-American cherry pie,” he said, smiling broadly, and was rewarded by Steve’s blush.  He was dressed casually, in a t-shirt and jeans, a leather jacket, but Tony hadn’t seen Steve since that morning, hadn’t realized he’d gotten back to the mansion.

Steve smiled back. “So, can I come in?” he said, and Tony flung an expansive arm out wide, welcoming him obviously.

“Come on in,” he said, grinning and leaning back in his chair. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“What,” Steve said, coming toward him.  “I can’t just want to see your smiling face?”

“You can,” Tony said, smiling himself, irresistibly, at that.  “I’ll allow it.  Are we still in the honeymoon period, honeymuffin?”

“You tell me,” Steve said, a little wry.  “No, you stay there.”  He crossed the room, gave Tony a questioning look, one hand on the desk Tony was working on, and when Tony nodded, pushed aside the pad of paper, some pens, and some extra wrenches to hoist himself up onto it, then leaned down, cupping his hands at the side of Tony’s jaw, along his neck, in a way that made him shiver, his eyes want to start to slide closed.  “I think we’ve known each other long enough by now,” Steve murmured, “and I still want to,” he brushed a soft kiss over the side of Tony’s mouth, “kiss you, all the time.”  He pressed the other kiss over Tony’s lips, soft and hot and fervent, and Tony just sighed, felt himself go soft and tingly and melting all over, leaned up into it, grabbing the front of Steve’s shirt, wrapping his other arm around the back of his head despite how far he had to lean up to do it.

That kiss lead to more kisses, and before too long, Steve was sliding his hands under Tony’s hips, under his thighs, and bodily lifting him up, into his lap, as he scooted them back on the desk, neatly avoiding the computers, and Tony felt a thrill go through him, shoot down his spine to tingle hot in his stomach, because it was just such a turn-on that Steve was strong enough to do that, big enough, to just _lift him_ like that, like it was easy.  Before too long, his tongue was deep in Steve’s mouth, the kiss turning deep and hot and wet, sexual, hand carding through his hair, as they rocked against each other instinctively.

“Did you want to ask me something?” Tony asked breathlessly, a vague thought in the back of his head as he pulled back for a breath, hand curling in Steve’s hair as the other one stroked up and down over his chest through the t-shirt, under his jacket. “Need me for anything?”

“No,” Steve said, eyes blown and starry, mouth kiss-stung and wet, as he looked up at him, hands already moving over Tony’s ass and thighs, squeezing his ass gently but not ever letting go, or letting the support he was giving him with that grip waver. “No, I—I just wanted to see you, that’s all.”

“Well,” Tony said, and grinned, let the words come out purring, husky and low, “you’re seeing me, all right.”  He leaned back down into the kiss, stroking his hand through Steve’s hair.

They hadn’t actually tried having sex in the workshop before then, and they quickly found out that there were more complications than there were in the bedroom.  Tony got distracted by his monitors, the beeping tone informing him that one of his fabrications was done, they slipped and knocked the wrenches off the edge, and Tony ended up landing flat on Steve’s chest, over the desk, Steve’s head flopping back off the other side as he caught himself, one arm over Tony’s back like he might have grabbed him, or any other civilian or teammate, in the field to hold onto him, hold him to his chest.

Steve started to laugh, deep, warm, belly laughs that shook his whole body, throwing an arm back over his eyes where he hung off the edge of the desk, and then Tony was laughing, too, helplessly, because, really, they could probably have been a bit more graceful than that.  “Sorry,” he said, “my fault, probably.”

“Nah,” Steve said, lifting his arm and smiling up at Tony, and his eyes were so blue, his face so bright and happy it took Tony’s breath away.  “It’s definitely my fault.  I’m the one who came down here and,” he tugged at the bottom of Tony’s shirt, raising his head, walked his fingers up along it over Tony’s stomach, “seduced you while you were working.”

“You didn’t seduce me, sugar,” Tony said, laughing.  “And besides, I was almost done with things anyway.  I was just fooling around with a few designs, really, when you came down.”

“Good,” Steve said, “I wouldn’t want to interrupt you.”  And then with one liquid, feline surge of movement like some kind of big cat done in shades of gold and peachy cream skin and blue (blue shirt, blue jeans, blue eyes), he rolled Tony up and over, bringing himself up, so Tony was lying on his back on his own desk, Steve braced over him, their legs dangling off the front until Steve hooked Tony’s desk chair with one foot and brought it close so they could both drape their legs across it.  Tony was still gasping, and Steve brought his hands up, traced the sides of Tony’s cheeks, down along his beard, along his jaw, softly, almost tenderly, before he leaned in, murmured, “But I do want to do this,” and kissed him again.

Tony let out a ragged moan, leaned up into the kiss, wrapped his arms around Steve’s neck and arched himself up into it, opening his mouth under Steve’s as Steve licked his tongue over Tony’s lips, slid it along the bottom one, before he gently, almost politely, slid it into the space Tony was offering him.  The kiss heated up quickly, but it stayed somehow hot and soft and slow, even as Steve rocked their hips together, rocking Tony back down against the desk, and he could feel the hot rigid length of Steve’s erection pressing into him through his jeans.  Tony found his hands twining into Steve’s hair, his legs spreading wide as he pressed up against him.

“You know,” Steve gasped, pulling away with a sweet, soft bite to Tony’s bottom lip and leaving him open-mouthed and gasping, “jeans are … are not the most comfortable thing to do this in.”

Tony stared at him for a moment, then snorted back a laugh, just couldn’t help it.  “Yeah, I bet not, with the anaconda you’ve got down your pants,” he said, and reached down, shimmying himself around so that he could give Steve some help.  “Want a hand with that?”

“The what?” Steve said, turning bright red, and then they were both laughing, again, so hard Tony could barely keep track of what his fingers were doing, and they just fumbled over Steve’s fly, his buttons, for ridiculously long moments before he finally got the button loose and slid his fingers down under the zipper, against the damp heavy pulsing heat of Steve’s erection, so that he didn’t catch his already amazingly wet briefs in the zipper as he tugged it down, reached up and brought the briefs down with it.

Steve’s erection sprang free, hot and wet against Tony’s fingers, then fell between them onto Tony’s belly with a kind of turgid thwack that somehow was incredibly funny, and Tony found himself laughing again, so hard there were tears in his eyes, hanging onto Steve’s shoulders, as Steve laughed too, even as he got a hand down to stroke himself.  Tony had no idea how long they hung onto each other there, panting into each others’ mouths, hands entwined on Steve’s dick and on each others’ necks, just laughing and laughing so hard Tony’s breath started to strain in his throat, but he barely thought about it when Steve leaned down over him and pressed another kiss into his mouth, still laughing in between deep, wet, soft kisses to his lips, between his teeth, as Steve got one hand up and curled it around the back of his neck, sliding his hand into Tony’s hair, the other going down to fiddle with Tony’s fly.  He just groaned and leaned up into it, into Steve’s big, warm hand on his cock, reaching for Steve’s cock with his other hand, kissing Steve breathlessly between laughter as if his life depended on it.

They brought each other off like that, and then lay there, for a long time, luxuriating in each other’s arms, just lying there close together, arms around each other, and Tony just let his eyes slip closed, enjoying Steve’s body heat, the way Steve’s hand was stroking absently through his hair, just how _good_ it felt.  Eventually the ding of another fabrication finishing reminded him where he was, and that, probably, he couldn’t just lie there in Steve’s warm arms on his own desk forever, stroking Steve’s chest and staring into his eyes (his lashes were darker than his hair, just by a little, but enough that they looked dark, dark honey-gold, they got lighter near the tips, kissed by the sun, and there was more than one color of blue in his eyes, and a little gray, and when he got self-conscious, he bit his lip a little, catching between his teeth, as he smiled).  He groaned, pushed himself up, and Steve made a noise of loss, his hand sliding down over Tony’s back, his ass, his thigh, before he pushed himself up on his elbows, too.

“Sorry, apple strudel,” Tony told him, fondly pushing soft blond hair back off Steve’s forehead. “But I should probably get my pants back on.”

“Well,” Steve said, and bit his bottom lip, looked up at Tony under his eyelashes, the epitome of the all-American soldier boy being naughty, “not if you lock the door, huh?”

Tony was already sliding off the desk, pulling his slacks up around his waist with one hand, but he just stood there for a moment, surprised, and then Steve was leaning up, pressing a quick sweet kiss into his mouth, and winked at him as he vaulted off the desk, practically, and went over to key the workshop closed.

“There,” he said.

“Uh-huh,” Tony said.

“You said,” Steve said, soft and husky, as he came back across the workshop toward him.  His dick was hanging out of his pants, but he didn’t seem to care, despite the incongruity of it, already hardening again. “You said you didn’t have any more work to do,” and he reached Tony, pulled him warmly into his arms, slid his hands down Tony’s thighs, into his slacks, and Tony just let them drop, laughing in pure delight and amazement as he leaned back up into Steve.

They ended up lying on the floor by the wall, Tony’s pants flung somewhere around the room, Steve’s only hanging on by one foot, and Tony found himself still laughing, in disbelief, in pure pleasure, in amazement, as he came down from his orgasm, head flopping back against the wall.  “You did come down to seduce me,” he said, chuckling, rubbing his watering eyes with one hand, catching his breath, “you definitely did.  I take that one back.”

“Just to make time with you,” Steve said, grinning up at him from where he was lying on his stomach beside him.  He curled an arm around Tony’s leg, pressed soft, wet, sucking kisses up along his thigh, over his hip, that made Tony blow out his breath, low, a trembling shudder of heat sweep over him despite the pleasure-heavy lassitude of his orgasm, his soft, tired cock.

“Uh-huh,” Tony said.

“Uh-huh,” Steve said, chuckling.  “If you’d been busy working, I’d’ve just got out that sketchpad I stashed over there a while back and drawn you for a while.  But,” he grinned, “can’t say I don’t like how it turned out instead.”

“Mmm,” Tony agreed, and got a tired hand down, skimmed it through Steve’s hair, slow and fond.  “Can’t say I don’t agree with you on that, tiger.”

“Mmm,” Steve said, and laid another kiss, warm and wet, against Tony’s belly, sucked on his navel until he was squirming, then sat up, pulled Tony’s head down into another kiss. Eventually they ended up both leaning against the wall, Tony resting his head on Steve’s shoulder, trying to catch his breath from kisses, feeling dizzy and warm and breathless and loose, relaxed, as Steve rubbed at his shoulders, then slid a hand up, stroked it through his hair.  Tony let his eyes slide closed, breathed out, deep and slow.  He felt—he felt so good.  Relaxed.  Easy. After a moment, Steve tugged on his hair, lightly, and Tony let it pull his head back, raised it to look up at Steve, opening his eyes and smiling, leaning up to curve a hand around Steve’s jaw, give him another kiss.

He was grinning when he pulled away, just—smiling, and Steve smiled back up at him, bright and warm and soft and happy, and reached up, ran his fingers along Tony’s cheek, brushed his hair back, rubbed gently at his jaw.  “Damn, I love seeing you like this,” he murmured, and Tony blinked at him.

“What?” he said, still laughing.  “Debauched in my own workshop?  Pantsless?”

“Happy,” Steve said, laughing a little himself.  “Relaxed, Tony.  Happy, like this, smiling at me, like that.  Laughing.  God, I love it.”

“Oh,” Tony whispered. It hit him a moment later, and he felt his smile go crooked, soft.  “Oh. Yeah.  I am.  I mean, uh. Happy.”

“I love you, mister,” Steve said, and curved his hand around the back of Tony’s neck, so warm and strong and steady.  “Now come here and give me another kiss.”

Tony did, closed his eyes and leaned into it, his throat feeling tight, _I love you, I love you_ repeating over and over again in his brain, pounding in his chest, because oh, oh wow, and the kiss was—was transcendent, Steve’s lips soft and warm on his, their mouths so warm against each other, deep and soft and wet and hot, and Tony fell into Steve when it was over and panted, “I—I love you, too.  It probably sounds stupid, I—I mean, I—I actually don’t say it that much, but.  I.  I do, I, I love you.”

“Aw, Tony, I know,” Steve said, smiling at him some more, one hand coming up and carding through Tony’s hair.  “Thanks. Thanks for sayin’ it back, fella.”

Tony bit his lip, squeezed his eyes shut, kissed him again, and, eventually, somehow, he ended up resting his forehead on Steve’s shoulder, Steve still stroking his hair, until the pleasure of it washed all the way through him, made his muscles relaxed, and Steve’s other big hand slid, petted gently, down his back.

“You really love this, huh?” Steve murmured, after a moment.  “Me, uh, my hand in your hair like this, just, I mean, touching it, petting it like this.”

“I do,” Tony whispered. “I really do.  It feels so good, sugar, it’s just—it’s so good.”  He bit his lip, swallowed, self-conscious (maybe Steve thought it was dumb, anyway), but then Steve was just sighing, a deep, relaxed, contented sigh, and pulling Tony even closer into him.

“Oh, good,” he said.  “That’s something I can do for you.”  He pressed a soft kiss into the top of Tony’s hair, and Tony blinked.

“What?” he said, his mind still too all over the place (Steve _loved_ him, that was what he’d said) and pleasure-dazed to have really processed that. 

“Shh, nothin’,” Steve said. His hand slid down Tony’s back again, rubbed at the back of his neck, inexpressibly comforting, incredibly relaxing. “Just lie here with me for a while, won’t you?”

So Tony did, sighing and letting himself lean into Steve’s arms, his steady, sturdy bulk, the warmth of him, relaxing, and Steve made a happy noise and stroked his hair, and they lay there for a long time before Tony realized that he hadn’t worried even once about making it good, either that time, or on his desk.  And yet Steve was still here, nuzzling soft kisses across the top of his head, stroking his _hair_ , holding him close, and Tony just sighed, and let himself relax.


End file.
